The Nike Crown League Experience

People here aren’t kidding around, you show up to show out and show off at Crown League.

I’m not surprised by the question. Everything here has a secret, night club vibe to it. If you didn’t know better, the entrance to the Nike Crown League wasn’t an entrance. It’s on 374 Victoria street, a glorified alleyway between parts of Ryerson University buildings on both sides, with shrubbery camouflaging half of it.

To the left, in front of Kerr Hall gymnasium, there are a few people milling about and a table to what looked like any university vendor stand. The same people who gave out wristbands to verify entry at the stand could have been students inviting others to join their sorority to the naked eye.

Walking up to the entrance, words are exchanged between two people.

“Hey, your security guard doesn’t like me and won’t let me in,” she angrily said. “And I’m a Nike rep.”

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The warbled bellowing of Drake through the speakers swells as you head up the steps.

“Where are you going?,” says one Nike representative. “Who are you?”

For a moment I think we’re about to get bounced by security. A short girl with an unnerving Australian accent, tight pony tail and grey Nike shirt stops us just after we make it through the entrance and up the steps.

“Media personnel? We were told to go upstairs,” says my co-worker Chris, who flashes his grey wristband.

“Upstairs? Nobody is allowed upstairs,” she explains.

The music is clear as day now blaring out of the gym to the right. Instead of fighting with the security guard I head through the threshold and let my co-worker handle the problem. What was once the home of the Ryerson Rams is now home to Toronto basketball for the time being. We showed up late to the event because of an alarm mishap I had, so when I step into the gym for the first time the bleachers are almost near full.

Play is on-going but the half is nearly over. Both teams have the words Crown League printed on their mono coloured jersey. The only way to distinguish the players on the team is by their play, number, or their face. No names are on the back — there’s no need. If a player plays well enough you will know their name by the end of the night.

A player from 1LoveTO grabs the rebound and doesn’t even look to pass it. He dribbles into Steph Curry range and takes a Steph Curry-like shot: a pull-up jumper from deep three, which ended with a Steph Curry-like result. He casually strolls back on defense. He expected that shot to go in from the very instance it left his finger tips. People here aren’t kidding around, you show up to show out and show off at Crown League.

“With more range than a stove top! Connecting from three!,” in-game emcee Q-Dog shouts out over the mic.

Ooo’s, woo’s and whistles sing from the crowd, but there’s still enough time for another shot. CIA Bounce gets 15 seconds to orchestrate a possession, but they bungle the play and mishandled the ball. The shot they get off is heavy from near half court. It gets the backboard and no applause. Turning away as the buzzer sounds, the security personnel that was once blocking our way to the upper deck has rectified the situation and we’re granted entry.

On the way down the hall and up the next set of steps there’s something intriguing about the people at the venue. Someone is always giving dap to someone else. It’s almost like everyone knows everyone. Spectators with gold chains and Odell Beckham Jr. haircuts exchange pleasantries, words of praise and encouragement not only with each other, but with the players.

Upstairs offers a second set of bleachers giving a full view of the crowd, coaches, and players, but also the beautiful redesigned court. Gone are the volleyball, badminton and soccer lines that are standard in any school gymnasium. That’s too simple.

How about a white court, outlined in gold with a black key (also outlined in gold) that has a blue silhouette of the CN tower jutting out of it. Inside the arc is midnight blue and so is the out of bounds border in front of the seats.

After establishing myself in the upper bleachers I rush back downstairs to get some brief words with people around the court.

“Crown League is a platform,” says Akil Augistine. “You come home to your mom, dad, uncle or friends and they get to see what you do best and put the ball in the bucket.”

A lot of people here could relate. Most of the players are either college players, from overseas, from the D-League, or the legendary Eastern Commerce high school. Those aren’t the most luxurious options compared to the NBA, but to a ball player, the Crown League offers a way for all of the players to mesh together and test their skills. All for the hometown pride of family and Toronto.